Those People...
There are always those people, the ones who hide behind you while you walk. The ones that you know are causing the feeling of being watched. The ones that never speak a word unless they have absolutely no choice. Well, I have a story about one of those people. It was another normal day, and I was walking to my first class. I had just left the library (my morning sanctuary) and was now on my way to gym, thinking'', whatever idiot decided to force people to run two miles at 7:30 in the morning needs to die slowly.'' I know, a brutally vicious thought, but it made me about 3% happier. I walked into the locker room, and changed and walked back out (no details here). I walked to the upstairs gym and felt as if I was being followed. I'm usually the last person, so this freaked me out quite a bit. I shrugged it off and continued upstairs to find my gym class doing push-ups. I decided that being a minute late wouldn't do me any harm, but my coach saw me and, trying not to get suspended in this godforsaken school, I obediently walked towards him. The feeling of being followed came back and I whirled around, only to see a shadow disappearing around the corner. I was, naturally, terrified at the idea of being followed and felt like I was going to vomit. My coach saw this and excused me to the nurse's. I threw up the second I arrived, only barely making it to the toilet. I was taken out of class and sent home. I decided that my mom wouldn't need me home for a while, nor would she be expecting me. I set her voicemail to "hello?" so it sounded like she knew I was gone. Eventually, it became dark, and I started back to my house. I came to a fork between the road, and saw that I had two choices- either I could take the streets, which were usually filled with the nearby gangs, or I could take the path that led into the woods, where all of society's rejects lived. If you want to know what would have happened if I had taken the road, skip the next paragraph. If you want to know what would have happened if I had taken the path, read the next paragraph. I decided that the forest path was probably my best bet, because it was shorter, and gangs definitely had guns. Rejects might, but I was willing to take that chance. I took a few steps into the woods, and the feeling from earlier returned. Suddenly I heard a voice so quiet, I could have mistaken it for a branch breaking 20 yards away. "I don't talk a lot." I spun around to catch the stalker red-handed, but nobody was there. I turned around again and saw a small girl, wearing a torn dress that was a faded and stained sky blue. Her shoulder length, jet black hair was splayed all over her face, and I couldn't tell who she was. She took a step towards me, uttering the words so silently that I strained to hear them. "I don't get noticed at all, and I don't think it's very fair. So listen- I could have you killed in a matter of minutes, or I could take your place. I've been watching you for a while now, and I know everything there is to know about you. I know a few plastic surgeons who would be willing to help me. Feeling helpless and lost, I mutter, "What happens to me, or the real me?" "Well," she replied thoughtfully. "I suppose I could make you look like me..." Suddenly a terrible thought came to me, and I knew that, no matter what I did, I would never be able to live as an invisible girl. So I screamed NO as loud as I possibly could, and the last thing I ever saw was the silver glint of her dagger as it tore through me skin, stabbing me right in the heart. The next paragraph has an alternate ending. ' '''I closed my eyes and took a step cautiously, looking both ways over and over. I immediately began to cross the street, hurrying as much as I dared in these dark nights. Suddenly I heard the sound of tire wheels scratching, and knew that no matter what happened, this wasn't going to be good. I was right. Two cars came full speed at each other, and it took me a precious second to realize that I was in the middle. I dived out of the way, just in time as the two cars exploded in a ball of flame. I began shaking uncontrollably, because the thought that I hadn't taken 5 steps and that I had already nearly died brought my spirits crashing to the ground. A boy sprinted out on light feet, and lifted me up. I gazed into his soft, hazel eyes, and said nervously, "Well, ''that seemed fun," which was answered with an evil grin. I didn't think much of it, as I was staring into the endless pools of honey. His smile widened and he said demonically, "Cute girl, ugly judgement." It was then that I noticed the tattoo of a half-moon attacking a half-sun, and realized he was a part of the most notorious gangs in existence. He smiled and brought a knife to my eyes, and to my horror, I realized that it was covered in blood. I looked down to see that he had stabbed himself in the heart, and slowly I could feel his strength lessening. I laid him down on the road, and as I crouched down to help him, I noticed another pool of blood, but not coming from him; it was coming from me. So there you go- in both stories, the quiet person is the killer (although, I guess you could argue this point with story ending number 2, because I never actually said that he didn't talk a lot). And in both endings, I die. The thing is, if you look at a bunch of past murderers. The killer is always the kid who was quiet at school, and never really participated in anything. Coincidence? I think not. So it's decided- quiet people can be either a.)extremely successful b.)completely normal or c.)horrendous killers. So really, nothing is decided. Category:Mental Illness